For all my literary fans out there, here is my version of A Visit from St. Nicholas. My version is MUCH better! A Visit from A Skeleton By Charles S. Blevins (apologies to Clement Clarke Moore) Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home Not a creature was stirring, not even a bone; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that the skeleton soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of scapulas danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our skulls for a long winters nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the sternum of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little dead driver without any melanin, I knew in a moment he must be the skeleton. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all! As bones that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the housetop the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and the skeleton too— And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney the skeleton came with a bound. He was dressed not at all, from his skull to his talus, His hat was askew and his smile showed no malice; A bundle of toys he had flung on his vertebrae, And he looked like a peddler in such disarray. His eyes—just where were they? his dimples, how scary! His cheeks were nonexistent, his nose was, well, airy! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the fake beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, The smoke flooded his skull from underneath; He had a broad face and a nonexistent belly His ribs shook when he laughed and were really quite smelly. He was no skin and all bone, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A glimpse of his socket and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, Laying his finger aside of his nasal cavity, He rose up the chimney like there wasn’t any gravity; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Posted on: Wed, 10 Dec 2014 03:17:46 +0000
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